


Tangle Formations

by arabybizarre



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Everyone will probably make an appearance at some point, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Just filling in the gaps, One Shot Collection, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-20 19:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabybizarre/pseuds/arabybizarre
Summary: Strings are complicated. So, how exactly did Ryder and Peebee end up here?A series of one-shots (in no particular order) filling in the gaps to their tumultuous relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ayo. So, I'm obsessed with this ship. And this game in general, currently. I've had a lot of thoughts and needed to write some of them down, so I'll be treating this collection as my ship repository. One shots won't be posted in any particular order, and will range from fluff to angst (with some smut in between, probably, because... obviously). Depends on my mood. Anyway, hope you all enjoy!

On the other side of the room, the door hissed closed, and Peebee was left wondering why she was still here.

“Ten minutes,” Ryder had promised, “and I'll be back.”

Which was untrue, Peebee knew, despite how hard the Pathfinder might hope otherwise. Vidcalls with Director Tann were never quick. If he wasn't droning on for twenty minutes about some bureaucratic something or other, he was likely eating precious time badmouthing his colleagues. An insufferable gossip, that one. Peebee would’ve found it hilarious had the Salarian not interrupted the beers she and Sara had been sharing.

So, she could have left. She could have returned to the newly replaced escape pod to tinker away at her latest project (a few modifications to Zap’s interfacing – the little bot had an increasingly pertinent job as of late and she wouldn't be satisfied until it had been perfected). But she'd spent a shamefully short amount of time within Ryder’s quarters, and was almost never left alone.

And if nothing else, she was just a _little bit_ nosy.

_(Okay, so… more than a little bit.)_

It wasn't her place to pry into Ryder’s life (or anybody’s, for that matter). But with the Pathfinder, almost nothing seemed to be off the table.

Peebee had never been the type to open up freely to others. Or at least not without disastrous consequences, as her relationship with Kalinda had proven. For the sake of self-preservation, she tended to stay buttoned up.

Which made her unrelenting fascination – her near-compulsion to learn what made Sara Ryder tick – patently unfair.

The whole situation was unjust, honestly. She'd come to Andromeda to study the unknown, to tread where no one had tread before. She thought the Remnant were her ticket to discovery. But here she was aboard the Tempest, lines of code and bits and baubles of rem-tech spread before her nightly, and all she could think about was some half-joke, half-truth the Pathfinder had made in passing earlier that day.

 _Focus_ , she had to remind herself, sitting on Ryder’s couch with a bottle of beer sweating between her palms. She shouldn't have wanted to stay. And she shouldn't have wanted to intrude. But Sara lead her to believe that neither were unwelcome (quite the opposite actually). And so, she decided to poke around.

Rising to her feet she stretched, giving the room a once over. A few things she noticed immediately, such as her own coffee mug (some garish Milky Way affectation painted with their galaxy’s most beloved Hanar hero, Blasto) left sitting on the bedside table for the past two nights.

After the ordeal with Kalinda, she was pleased to find Sara’s offer had been genuine. Her quarters were open, and she'd gladly shared her bed. Though while Peebee’s plans had been less than innocent, she'd found herself unable to push herself past a few chaste kisses.

The uncertainty had been too much. To close one chapter in her life she'd had to admit she was open to beginning another. But could she give herself over to that kind of attachment again? She liked to think not. But as she and Ryder had lain in bed together, having shared a cup of tea and some ridiculous vid, she couldn't be sure.

She shook off the thought.

Her eyes fell next upon the scuffed helmet displayed behind the couch – Alec Ryder’s. The helmet that had saved Sara’s life.

Though she'd been honest about many things, the Pathfinder had little to say about it. Her relationship with her father, from what Peebee could tell, had been distant. Contentious, even, if she was reading it correctly. That he had sacrificed himself for his daughter seemed to burden and beguile her in equal measure.

And the actual death… well, that topic was simply out of bounds.

She ran her fingers over the helmet’s visor. From what little she’d discussed, Sara has seemed almost resentful for this final intervention on her father’s part. Peebee, on the other hand, was secretly grateful.

She meandered over to the desk, and had to grin. Her own workspace was neat and tidy. But Ryder’s was… well. To say it was a disaster seemed almost too kind.

It was remarkable, really. On the battlefield, the Pathfinder was meticulous. Her stratagem clean and calculated. Even in conversation, where the Asari tended to ramble on in a fruitless bid to keep up with her own thoughts, Ryder always seemed so quick-witted and thoughtful.

But the desk. Peebee reached forward and stopped herself before deciding to touch.

The utter quagmire of datapads and reprinted books (a prized collection of the late Ellen Ryder, Sara had recently explained) was dizzying. But what truly puzzled Peebee were the notes. Loose leaf. Handwritten on actual scraps of paper. Dozens upon dozens of them.

It was rare for anyone to write by hand. But Peebee had noticed, it seemed to be a habit of the Pathfinder’s.

She kept a pen with her always. And at all idle times, or whenever a precious thought seemed to strike her, she'd scribble on whatever she could find. Napkins. Her weapons bench. Even her own skin – Peebee had seen it scrawled with thin, crooked lines on more than one occasion.

She picked up one note, and then another, peering at the inky scribble, and traced the tip of her finger over one long, circuitous line.

She couldn’t for the life of her understand what they said. Verbals were one thing – their implanted translators bridged the language gap so naturally it was easy to forget they were all speaking different tongues. Their computer correspondence was much the same. But to actually see human writing was mystifying, if not a little beautiful.

The Asari alphabet – though something she’d always taken for granted, being native to it – had always seemed elegant to her. A little exorbitant, as much of their ways were. Most symbols donned flowery curlicues and soft edges.

Human writing appeared a little sloppy in comparison. Loose and sharp in some places, loopy and tight in others. A contradiction. Or maybe that was just Ryder’s hand – it was hard to tell.

“Yikes.”

Peebee nearly jumped out of her skin, clutching the scraps in her hand a little too tightly. Her cheeks turned a light shade of purple as she wheeled around.

“Ryder. I was just—”

“Snooping?” Ryder half smirked, idling near the door. She walked over to the hamster’s cage, blushing a little bit herself.

Peebee glanced down at the notes – the likely _private_ notes – held in her fist. She placed them back on the desk. “I was just looking,” she explained hastily.

Sara glanced up slowly, chuckling. Though she was cringing a bit, too. “That’s embarrassing.”

“No,” Peebee shook her head, laughing herself. “I don’t know what they say.”

“Oh.”

“But… something probably _not_ meant for a nosy Asari, I assume.”

Now Ryder shook her head, smiling. She tentatively walked over to the desk, standing beside Peebee. Standing close – perhaps more so than she realized. “A lot of them are just… nonsense.” She picked up the crumpled notes that Peebee had held in her hands just moments before. Her brow furrowed for a moment. “You really can’t read them?” It was a hopeful question.

“No. Our writing is completely different.”

Ryder nodded. “Of course. I just thought,” she glanced up at Peebee, smirking again, “a real smarty-pants such as yourself…”

Peebee bumped her hip. “Just because I’m a _smarty-pants_ that doesn’t mean I can read this pyjak-scratch.”

“Hey!” Sara placed a hand over her heart, mock offended. “That’s very offensive to pyjaks, you know.”

Peebee considered her for a moment – her easy grin and well-hidden embarrassment, and snatched the scrap of paper back out of her hand. “That also doesn’t mean I’m not curious.”

“Who?” Ryder snatched the paper back, striding over to the couch to retrieve her now warm beer. “You? Curious?”

“Unheard of, I know.” Peebee joined her, taking a quick swig of her own drink before plopping down on the couch beside Ryder. Their hips brushed together as she kicked her feet up on the coffee table. “I mean, I’ve noticed. You’re always writing down something.”

“Have you?” She took a pull from her own beer. “I guess you’ve been watching me then?”

Peebee shrugged, pretending to focus on the written words. Truthfully though, she was distracted by all the places in which their skin currently touched. There was no reason for them to be sitting this close, and they both knew it.

But this seemed to be the way of their relationship as of late: a big, blatant truth, deferred in the name of good-natured teasing.

There was a tension. Where it had been easy enough to brush off before the incident with Kalinda, it was fairly unavoidable now. The _feeling_ was unavoidable. She thought back to what Ryder had told her in the escape pod. How she’d _want it to matter._

After all the waiting, the fruitless wishing away, the failure of their forgetting—it was a good thing they were both so determined. It’s what made it so fun and so absolutely maddening at the same time.

“Trying to change the subject, are we?”

“Hardly,” Ryder scoffed, all pretense. “I’m so on the nose, aren’t I?”

Peebee’s eyes narrowed. Because the Pathfinder wasn’t, exactly. She pretended to be. Ryder was disarmingly honest, at times. And at others… unfathomably vague. Almost everything was a laughing matter.

Until it wasn’t. And then it was a challenge. Every now and then, she’d speak with such candor, such brutal nudity that Peebee couldn’t tell if she was _actually_ joking or if she was just making you wish she was. It was hard to tell where the hurt was, sometimes. All the more obvious where the passion lay.

“You’re the only person I know who writes anything by hand.”

“Bad habit?”

“No… just curious.”

Ryder paused. “My mom used to. A lot.”

“Aha!”

Sara gave her a withering look, emptying her beer. “What?”

“I sense a story, is all.”

“Not really,” Ryder waved it off. But her eyes were already a tad distant. “She just loved the written word. Like I told you, all those books – they were hers. And she was a scientist by trade. But in her eyes, science was all poetry.” She smiled. “And, you know, she beat that love into me from the time I was a little kid. Tried to with Scott. But his skull was always a lot thicker than mine.”

“So, it’s poetry you’re writing?” Peebee smirked. She should’ve guessed. For all her humor and sarcasm, Ryder was also, at times, grossly sentimental.

“I mean—” The blush returned, and she threw her hands in the air. She shrugged. “Sometimes. I don’t know. It’s, uh… not really. I’m just trying to remember things.” She turned to Peebee, smiling softly. Her eyes glimmered.

“How many things? You’ve got, like, a thousand pages over there.”

“Just, uh,” she stared at the ceiling, brow wrinkling again. Her thinking face, Peebee realized. A dead giveaway that things were, perhaps, more serious than either of them cared to admit. “This is all uncharted territory, right? A new world. I mean—a little bit lived in. Nothing new to the Angara, obviously. But us?”

She grinned at Peebee again, gaze all full of stars. It was involuntary, but the Asari’s stomach dipped. Just a bit. To see someone – someone else – who’s face was so full of wonder for the unknown, for the yet-to-be discovered… she felt kindred. Familiar in a way that was entirely too comforting.

“This is a beginning, isn’t it?” Sara’s voice had lowered, softened impossibly, like she was telling a secret. And in some way, she might have been. But there were shadows, too, at the edges. Protracted and distant, yet hovering all the same. “Despite those days when it seems like… you know. Something’s about to end.”

She shook her head. Closer now. Close enough that Peebee could feel the warmth of her breath.

“We all have a chance to build a home here. A new legacy to carve. And don’t you think… someone will want to remember that someday?”

Peebee met her gaze. Her mouth was dry. She couldn’t raise her voice to its usual dominating volume. “I do.”

“I would like to remember it someday.” Sara chuckled. That sarcastic edge returned again, just slightly. “When I’m looking back on my long, _long_ life in Andromeda.”

It was almost backhanded. Almost self-flagellating. It unsettled Peebee, in some way. She joked, “Reciting schmaltzy poetry about a hero’s adventures.”

Sara grinned in full, eyes squinty. She went to take a sip of her beer, forgetting it was already empty. She frowned, then promptly stole Peebee’s.

“Hey!”

Ryder giggled, pushing the Asari away as she practically jumped on her to steal it back. Grinning around the lip of the bottle, she downed it one long, thieving gulp.

Peebee pushed her back onto the couch. Sara lay on her side, still laughing, clutching the empty beer bottle in her arms. The Asari hovered over her, on top of her, realizing once again just how close they were. Her dry mouth grew drier.

Squinting, Ryder craned her head to glance up. They watched each other for a moment, until the Pathfinder rolled more fully onto her back. Peebee didn’t dare to move. Didn’t want to.

For an instant, they simply watched each other. Until the heat grew. Until that same uncertainty from the other night returned, and Peebee found herself unable to rush forward into Ryder’s warmth, knowing exactly what it _could_ mean. This time, wanting it to.

She swallowed. “I was going to drink that, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, now you owe me.”

“Yeah?” Ryder’s voice lowered again. She licked her lips. Just enough. “And what do you want?”

The answer sprang to her mind, so immediately, so unbidden, that Peebee nearly lost her grip. _You_. It was right on the tip of her tongue. But now… her heart quaked. It wasn’t the time.

 _Almost._ She knew, but was fighting it. Not yet.

She bit down to keep from saying it. Instead, “You have to write me a poem, Pathfinder.”

The spell was broken. Ryder clamped her eyes shut, groaning in embarrassment. She was smiling though, still. “Why?”

“Because,” Peebee pushed herself up onto her knees. She smirked. “I like torturing you.”

Sara snorted, sitting up on her elbow. “Yeah, no shit.” Again, that pointed sarcasm.

Peebee chose to ignore it. “It doesn’t need to be anything extravagant. Something short, sweet—”

“Just like you,” Ryder jokingly mused.

“That’s right,” Peebee swatted her. “And don’t you forget it.”

Ryder was silent for a moment, staring at the wall. She scratched her head. “Does it have to be now?”

Peebee considered it. “Not if you get me another beer.” Sara sprung up off the couch almost instantly. “But soon!”

Ryder turned back to look at her. There was something soft in her eyes. Something serious. “Soon.”

“I won’t forget it.”

“I know you won’t,” she drawled.  


* * *

 

The thing about Sara, though, was that she was smart. A smart ass, typically, but given to shocking bursts of sheer intellect that left Peebee feeling flustered against her will.

Smart enough, at least, that after making a grand promise of poetry she sauced Peebee with enough beer—and eventually Angaran liquor—to make her almost completely forget about their trade.

Until, of course, Peebee walked into the escape pod nearly a week later, searching for the datapad on which she’d stored the notes to Zap’s latest upgrade. And found a scrap of paper taped to the front of it, with five words scrawled vertically (once again, crookedly) down its center.

Her brow furrowed. And though she hated to admit it, her heart skipped.

Of course, she couldn’t bring herself to ask Ryder for a translation. And not even Liam—the most oblivious of all her human crewmates—would’ve had the sense not to ask questions. Nevertheless, the extranet was a wonderful thing.

She checked one translator, and then another (and another), until the five words were clear. Short and sweet:

_I am—_

_I will_

_wait._

“Damnit, Ryder…” She hated how widely she grinned. Poetry, plain and simple.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen a couple other authors rework this canon scene, and thought I'd give it a shot, too. Because I really feel this was mishandled in-game. A pretty flippant take on what should've been (imo) a serious scene.
> 
> tw: panic attacks.

“The containment field only interacts with living matter. If you expire, the field around you will extinguish until you manually reset.”

“ _Expire?_ ” Sara asked. Such a clinical, matter-of-fact word choice. Immediately her throat began to tighten.

Behind her, Jaal was completely silent. Peebee, on the other hand, had already begun to make some preemptive sounds of protest – something between a scoff and a mild choking noise.

None of which seemed to make a difference to SAM, emotionless and duty-bound as it was. The AI continued on as if it were merely proposing she hunker down and have herself a cup of tea.

“As you know, my access to your physiology allows me to enhance your vital signals when required. I can also do the opposite.”

It took only a moment for it to sink in. You assume you’d be totally gobsmacked at the prospect, but it was quite the opposite actually. The Pathfinder’s heart fluttered nervously as if in a plea or some quiet remonstration.

Sara licked her lips. Her whole mouth was dry. “So, if you shut down my life signs—if you kill me—the field will disappear?”

“The one holding you, yes. Then I would attempt to resuscitate.”

“Attempt?” Peebee laughed, incredulous. “Ryder, you can’t—”

“Are there any other options, SAM?” The back of her skull itched under Peebee’s gaze.

“None that I can determine.”

It became very quiet very suddenly. Deathly so.

But Peebee couldn’t help herself. Her stomach was hollowed, queasy at the thought of it. To willingly stop your own heart—it was a hell of a thing. A ridiculous thing. And far too great of a risk for someone she lov—for someone upon which _many_ other someones were depending on to take.

There was a shred of anger rearing up at the back of her mind. Maybe not _at_ Ryder, exactly. _For_ her, more like. But it was anger nonetheless, and it was easier than the sharp clenching of her heart. She clung to it.

“Don’t be stupid, Ryder. If you do this—”

“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Her body was mostly immobile, but she had just enough room to crane her neck back, to catch the asari’s eyes. _You can’t be angry at me,_ she thought. _You can’t be._ And her own indignation roared inside of her, tidal and raw.

Because all she could think about now was choking to death on Habitat-7. Her father standing over her, pulling her cracked helmet off her head with steady hands. That first greedy, almost nauseating gulp of air as he traded her his.

And the split second where she thought, _He does love me,_ just as the darkness clawed at her vision and pulled her under. Too little, too late.

“You’re focused on what happens if I do this,” she contended. “I’m focused on what happens if I _don’t._ ”

“There’s another way,” Peebee fought, forcing her surety. Because there had to be, right?

Uncomfortable and nervous in his own way, Jaal agreed, “There could be another way—”

“Stop it. If you weren’t my friend, you would admit that’s not true.”

“Pathfinder,” SAM interjected, calm as ever. “I’d advise a quick decision. The Kett may return shortly.”

Her neck strained. She challenged Peebee’s sharp gaze. Anger for anger. And then something in her cracked, softening. Pleading. Because she knew exactly why her girlfriend wanted to yell: she might _actually_ die.

And if she did, she didn’t want her to remember the anger.

“If I don’t do this, you know what they’ll do to us,” she explained, voice almost too quiet. “They’ll make us into _monsters,_ Peebee. How could I let that happen, if there was even a chance—”

She had to stop. Because her voice could’ve cracked. Her heart was absolutely _thumping,_ rattling the bars of its cage, willing itself to escape.

The look she gave her – it was too honest, probably. Peebee glanced away, down at the floor. Her brow wrinkled. Ryder could see her jaw clenching. “Fine,” she said.

All Sara could do was nod. She turned back ahead. “All right—”

“Ryder—” She turned back around. Peebee’s eyes were wide, resigned. “Good luck,” she wished quietly.

Sara half-smiled: a frail, crooked thing. “Thank you. SAM… let’s do it.”

For a moment, her heart seemed to balloon, her chest distended and too light. And then all at once, it stopped.

* * *

 

_The memories splinter, spiderweb, like a sheet of ice cracking beneath her. It’s slow and it’s fast at the same time, words like_ before _and_ after _seeming to lose all meaning. Because where she is now—_

_Time isn’t a flat thing. It’s a circular thing. And everything she has ever experienced flashes before her, simultaneously._

_Sara grasps for a memory. She sees Ellen Ryder, youthful and healthy. Herself a tiny, squealing thing. Laughing. Reaching for her mother. Being held by her mother._

_And then she’s racing over the gravel, feet pounding. Backpack slung over her shoulder. Her brother struggling to catch up._

_“Sara, wait!”_

_And she’s looking back, smiling smugly. Losing her feet. Hitting the ground hard._

_But Alec is picking her up by the back of her shirt, pulling. Face stolid, a little dispassionate. And she’s too big for this now, she thinks. An adult, hair matted to her forehead with sweat._

_Her father’s face is close, and she can see a mixture of disappointment and frustration scrawled in its hard lines._

_“You don’t give up,” he tells her. “You chose this. Giving up is not an option.”_

_The words repeat. They gush from her own mouth. “You don’t give up.” But she’s looking down at her mother this time, a thin nest of tubes and wires flowing in and out of her body. She is too small, too pale, too ready for it to be over._

_“You don’t—”_

* * *

 

The shock of it lifted her shoulders from the ground—a deep, plundering gasp that set fire to the kindling in her lungs. She coughed and huffed and sputtered, rolling over onto her hands and knees. The room tilted.

The others were speaking, but she couldn’t hear a word. Her entire world, entire life, had condensed into a single breath.

Panic kicked in, sharp and sudden. She fought it, mind screaming at her to spring into action. But when she pushed up, her stomach rolled and she heaved.

“I would recommend steadying your breathing, Pathfinder,” SAM chimed in. “Your body has just received quite the shock.”

She managed to resist throwing up, focusing on her breath, allowing the room to right itself. The floor felt solid and cold beneath her. It felt good.

And then it was over, in a matter of moments. She stood, a little perturbed by how suddenly it all normalized. As if she hadn’t just died.

(Again.)

Ryder felt the gun at her hip, the one on her back. She looked up at Peebee and Jaal, the surprise evident on all their faces.

Peebee’s eyes were as big as saucers, her mouth a hard line. But Jaal... he smiled. “You are resilient, Ryder.”

She smiled back, a little shaky. “Lucky, more like.” Then, glancing back at Peebee, whose face had returned to an alarmingly aloof mien, Ryder’s stomach twisted guiltily. Unsure of what to say, she opted for a joke—her go-to in moments of unease. “You look awfully comfortable.”

It was a mistake and they both knew it. Sara looked away, shame-faced. “Right, well—I should get you down…” she muttered, striding off to find the console.

She could feel Peebee’s eyes boring into her the entire time.

* * *

 

Lexi glanced down at the datapad for what felt like the hundredth time, peeking up at Ryder with a look of mild displeasure. She’d had her hooked up to a cardiac monitor for the past couple hours, scanning every twenty minutes or so, and was reluctant to let her go.

Finally, she sighed. “I’m still not happy with you,” the doctor bluntly announced.

“Yeah, well… get in line,” Ryder muttered, staring up at the ceiling. Very few seemed pleased with her little _stunt_ on the Salarian Ark (as they were calling it), despite the fact that there seemed to be no other choice.

_Dad would’ve been proud,_ she reminded herself, wallowing in the irony. Her father, who had in his time been a widely _disliked_ man (with the exception of a few subordinates, Cora Harper among them).

Sara didn’t view herself with the same rigidity, however. She was a Pathfinder, meant to lead, but she in no way felt superior. On the contrary, she felt kindred, in many ways. The thought of her squadmates being mad at her didn’t sit well.

“But I can’t really see any reason to hold you here all night.”

“All right—” Sara shot up immediately, starting to pluck the ECG electrodes from her skin.

“You’re on bed rest until we dock though. You need to sleep.”

“Got it.”

“And as soon as you wake, I expect you back here for another scan. We need to keep an eye on that murmur.”

Sara gave her a thumbs up.

Lexi shook her head, setting the datapad down on the bed. Her face had softened, but the concern was still apparent. “Ryder. I’m serious. What you’ve endured is physically traumatic, to say the least.”

“Turnaround’s much better the second time though.”

The doctor shot her a withering look. There was something more she wanted to say. Sara could guess, given previous conversations. Lexi liked to keep track of her mental wellness as much as she did the physical – something the Pathfinder was typically grateful for.

Also something she didn’t have the energy to deal with tonight.

Lexi was merciful, however. Bit her tongue. Instead, she settled on, “Go to bed.”

“Trust me,” Sara assured her, sliding to the floor, “I’m going to.”

There was little else she felt capable of. She’d tried to, as she lay there in the medbay. But the incessant beeping of the machines, the doctor’s watchful gaze had been a distraction.

Among many others—

She felt too aware of the fact that Peebee hadn’t come to check on her. Flippant as the asari typically was, none of the Pathfinder’s post-mission medbay visits seemed to go without a brief interruption from her girlfriend, if only to dispense a smart-ass joke or two. It was almost a ritual for them.

It was hard to shake that feeling of guilt that had gripped her earlier. The look of anger, fear, and disappointment in the Peebee’s eyes.

Sara stood outside the door to her quarters and debated whether or not she should go inside yet. The escape pod was only just a short walk away. Granted, she barely even felt like she had the energy for _that_ , let alone a fight of any sort, but it would be the right thing to do. It was what she wanted to do, honestly.

“SAM,” Sara quietly inquired, “is Peebee in her room?”

“She is, Pathfinder. Though she requested privacy.”

“Oh.” Ryder instantly deflated, dragging herself into her own quarters. She wanted to collapse into her bed the second the door closed, but she also felt… grimy. As she usually did after a mission. She couldn’t allow herself to slide into bed without first showering and brushing her teeth.

Of course, even tasks as simple as those felt devastatingly laborious. She leaned heavily into the bathroom wall, luxuriating under the too-hot spray. For the most part, she felt normal, aside from the sporadic fluttering of her heart and a couple kinks in her shoulders.

As she reached back to work out the knots, her hand grazed over the spot where the Archon had injected her. Her heart sped a little at the thought. She hadn’t yet had time to dwell on exactly what the neurotransmitter might do to her – might already be doing.

Ryder shivered. What relaxation she’d felt herself slipping into vanished.

She finished up hastily after that, dressing herself in a pair of shorts and a tank top before sitting at the edge of her bed. Immediately, her shoulders began to slump, head dropping.

It was the helmet that caught her eye then—her father’s. She stared at it, at the red stripe shooting down the center, until her focus swam and all the colors seemed to blur together.

She knew her father would’ve been proud of what she’d done today. Because he was a man who believed in making the hard choices. A man who once believed in protecting the greater good above all else, particularly personal desires.

As an N7 he’d made many enemies, even some who had at one time been friends. He’d done what was right at all costs, no matter how bloody.

As Pathfinder he’d been distant and calculating, showing little empathy in his decision making.

“Why did you save me?” she asked, snapping herself back into focus. From its perch, the helmet seemed to taunt her. She told herself she deserved it.

“SAM, can you turn the lights off?”

Sara thought of Peebee one last time as she laid back beneath her sheets. She would forgive her now, she knew (hoped). But she would likely have to forgive her again. And again. (And again.)

It was the first night, maybe, since this all began, that she really, truly missed her father.

* * *

 

_She’d had nightmares as a child. Vivid at times – enough so to evoke physical sensations. Nausea. Pain._

_This time, it started as an ache in her neck, the point of injection throbbing gently. And then it grew, into something twisting and stabbing._

_Her whole body flooded with unbearable heat. The bones bent and broke, transforming into something dark. Something alien._

Kett.

_The Archon flashed with a grinning, bitter rictus._

_And then there was Peebee—beneath her, crying out. Her anger replaced with a cold dread._

_“Ryder, no—please—”_

_Her hand—rather, the hand that was not her own—closed around her lover’s throat. She tightened her grip._

_A gurgle. A crack._

_And in the distance, the Archon laughed._

* * *

 

_“No!”_

She bolted out of bed, tripping to the floor in a tangle of sweat-dampened sheets. Her hands spread out before her, pale and shaking. Her own.

“Lights,” she choked out.

“Pathfinder, your heart rate—”

“I know, SAM,” she snapped, voice cracking. She bit back a sob, her cheek pressed against the cool floor.

She felt like her throat was closing. She felt sick. She felt—

“Is Peebee in her room?” she asked again.

“Yes, she’s sleeping—”

But that didn’t matter right now. Because she didn’t think she’d be able to breathe until she saw her, whole and unharmed. Until she could take her in her arms and apologize.

If not for her actions, then for how absolutely unjust this whole _adventure_ was starting to feel.

The bridge was eerily quiet when she reached the escape pod, the blue light cast off from the ship’s controls appearing waiflike and ghostly. Every shadow looming in her periphery seemed to transform into the monsters her dream would have her become.

She couldn’t help but shiver, pounding on Peebee’s locked door without a care. Ryder called her name once, her own voice sounding scratchy. When there was no immediate response she shuffled, vaguely aware of just how rude she was being, but unable to really care.

“SAM, can you—”

The door whooshed open suddenly, startling Ryder. On the other end, Peebee rubbed her eyes, scowling faintly. “What?” she asked, a little too sharply.

Ryder stared back at her dumbly, mouth opening and closing. She felt almost dizzy with the relief, though her heart was still beating erratically.

The annoyance fled Peebee’s face as her brow wrinkled in dawning concern. “Ryder, are you—”

It was too much, the concern and the anger both. Ryder didn’t rush forward to embrace her so much as she fell, clutching her with an odd mixture of firmness and delicacy. Like she might hurt her still. She buried her face in her neck and inhaled.

“I’m sorry,” Sara said, voice shuddering. “I’m really sorry.”

It took Peebee a moment to catch up, but her arms wrapped around her just as tightly, almost on instinct. She wasn’t sure what to think. All night she’d felt so _mad_ , so betrayed in a way she couldn’t even place. And here she was now, with the object of her ire wrapped around her, and all she could feel was the worry.

The anger was still there, bubbling up beneath. But she could feel it folding over with every shake of Ryder’s lithe frame.

They were quiet for many moments. Peebee placed her hand in Sara’s hair and held on tightly. There were many things she wanted to say, but eventually, she settled on, “All I’ve thought about for hours is how I would yell at you.”

She was half joking, expecting Ryder to laugh, if only to cover her own shame.

Instead, the Pathfinder seemed to hide herself even further in her neck, so that her words came out muffled. “You can yell at me. I don’t care.”

That bothered her, made her heart clench a bit. “I don’t really want to now,” she muttered, the fire seemingly gone out. She pulled away, holding Ryder by the back of her neck. When she sought out her eyes there was no resistance. “What’s wrong?”

Sara’s face pinched, like she couldn’t find the words, or even pin down just one thing. She was struggling.

“It’s cold,” Peebee said, tugging her inside. “Come on.” She led her to the sleeping bag at the back of the escape pod, where they laid down and huddled close. And for several minutes, she waited.

Eventually, in a voice barely beyond a whisper, Ryder said, “I can’t make one right choice. No matter what it is—who’s saved or who gets left behind—someone is always hurt. It’s always wrong for somebody.

“I used to think my dad was such an asshole, you know. Growing up, he seemed so cold-hearted. But I realize now—I don’t think he was. I think after a while… you can only be condemned for doing the right thing so many times, before you give up on being good.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Peebee told her, feeling immediately like a hypocrite. Because she knew she had every right to.

Ryder’s breathing wasn’t quite even. She sat up, and the panic was clear. “I’m really trying. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Hey,” Peebee cupped her cheek, feeling guilty in her own way. “I know that.”

“Do you? I—today… there’s a reason, Peebee. Why people are only supposed to die once.”

To that, she couldn’t respond. Her chest was tight. Ryder asking SAM to stop her heart—that was one thing. It was easier to feel incensed about that than it was to consider what it felt like to actually die.

“I don’t… I don’t want to do that again,” Ryder choked out, struggling to catch her breath.

“Calm down, babe.” Admittedly, Peebee was starting to panic a bit herself. She’d seen Ryder lose her temper a few times before, but she’d never allowed herself to succumb to outright panic. Given her usual composure, Peebee hadn’t really thought her capable.

Then again, maybe she hadn’t been looking hard enough.

_Shit._ She pulled Ryder back down to her chest, holding her ear to her heart. She pressed her lips to the top of Sara’s head.

“You need to focus, okay?” she instructed, as calmly as she could manage. She owed her that now. “Listen to my heart beats. Count them.”

She thought back to the mental wellness seminars Lexi had forced them to sit through. She’d spent the majority of the time _not_ paying attention – making funny faces at Ryder and being a general nuisance. But she could vaguely remember a couple of the doctor’s breathing exercises.

“Pathfinder,” SAM interrupted, “if you need me to alert Dr. T’Perro—”

“We’ve got this, SAM,” Peebee promised, a little less than confident. She lifted Sara’s head, holding her gaze. “We’re going to breathe together now, okay?” Peebee nodded first, and after a moment, so did Ryder.

“Remember what the doc said? Exhale, push everything out.” To her relief, Ryder was at least trying to follow along, dutiful as always. “Deep breath. Count to four… now hold it until I tell you to stop… good. Now let it out… keep letting it out until I count to eight.”

They continued on like this for several minutes it seemed, until Ryder’s breaths evened and both their heart rates returned to normal. Peebee stroked her hair gently, her hand trembling.

“I don’t want you to think you need to apologize to me for doing the right thing,” Peebee began quietly. “I’m smart enough to see when something needs to be done. And that doesn’t mean that I won’t fight it, that I won’t give you hell. Because I probably will. Every time.”

She glanced down. The corner of Ryder’s mouth curled just slightly. She brushed her lip with her thumb, wiped the salt form her face. Sara’s eyes closed.

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

The Pathfinder looked up suddenly. “And I don’t want anything bad to happen to _you._ ”

Peebee’s smile was sad. _Strings,_ she thought again, perhaps for the millionth time. She would never regret tying herself to this wonderfully nerve-wracking woman. But sometimes, she felt very aware—it was hard, and parts of her would still try to resist, whether she really wanted to or not.

But ultimately, she couldn’t imagine Ryder going through what she just did alone. She wouldn’t allow it. The thought was too painful.

“Get up here.”

Ryder complied easily, allowing Peebee to set the pace as their lips met. It was a soft, sumptuous thing. Almost sulky in its tenderness, but still quenching. Finally, though her heart had been beating for hours already, the Pathfinder felt as if she’d returned to life.

“You’re the best of us, Sara” Peebee reminded her gently as she pulled away. “Please don’t forget that.”

Of course, Peebee was happy to continue reminding her, if that’s what it would take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind comments and kudos so far! I really appreciate it : )


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